


En Pointe

by 3988Akasha



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ballet, M/M, bottom!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #31: so i just rewatched Black Swan and thought a ballet au would be nice C: not necessarily Black Swan-ish, just anything ballet related.</p>
<p>The following is my fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	En Pointe

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by bones_2_be

"Michael, you shouldn't have closed the door," James chastised.

He kept himself behind his desk; it was a large, mahogany monstrosity that didn't suit him or the room, but he'd inherited it and right now liked the physical barrier between himself and Michael.

"What's the matter, James? Don't you trust yourself to be alone with me?" Michael's voice was pitched low, heavy with want.

"As a matter of fact, I don't."

Michael moved until his was directly in front of the obscene desk. He braced his hands on the front edge, the cords of muscle in his arms accentuated by the pose as he leaned forward, nearly in James' personal space.

"Good."

"Michael," James began, eyes wide, "Don't."

With a sigh, Michael pushed away from the desk. "James, honestly, this is silly. You like me, I like you. We're both unattached gay men. I fail to see the problem."

"The problem, Michael - "

Michael grinned, loving the way James became imperious when he thought he was correct about something.

"is that I now own this ballet studio."

"I was aware, yes. And, if you'd let me, I'd love to congratulate you properly."

"I cannot have sex with one my employees. It's a conflict of interest. Especially after this morning's meeting."

"The one where you threatened to fire anyone not producing revenue for the studio? I was there for that announcement, too."

"This isn't a joke, Michael," James growled.

"I'm well aware of that, James. I'm also not afraid of losing my job."

"Sleeping with me won't save your job."

Michael smirked. "I don't need to sleep with you to keep my job, James. I'm head instructor here for a reason, and not just because of how great my ass looks in leggings."

"Arrogant prick."

"Would you like to spank me?" Michael asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Michael, do try to take this seriously."

"I always take spankings seriously."

"You know very well that's not what I'm talking about here."

"I know. I also know that you're over thinking this, James. You want me."

James shoved his hands into his pockets. "To put a finer point on it, Michael, I've already had you."

Michael smiled slowly, sensuously. "I'm aware, if you'll recall, I was there. The sex was quite amazing, actually."

"Stroking my ego won't help you."

Michael leaned further across the desk. "Shall I stroke something else, then?"

"You should leave, Michael," James said without looking at him.

Michael felt his heart clench. "James - "

"You have a class in five minutes," James interrupted.

Michael smirked. "Saved by the bell?"

James met his gaze squarely and Michael swallowed, and willed his hard on away. He wouldn't be able to explain a boner to a room full of men in tights without it becoming horribly awkward. With one last heated glance at James, Michael smiled and left the office. He went through the routine of the lesson like a robot, which wasn't the best for a ballet instructor, but one poor lesson wouldn't be the end of his career, even when James might.

He waved a half-hearted good-bye to the last student, finally able to breathe now that he was alone in the studio. Facing himself in the mirror, Michael began to work through one of his standard warm-up routines, knowing he needed it since he'd done little other than standing during the class. His body moved fluidly through the movement, and he felt the extension from the point of his toe up through his leg where it settled in his hips. Warm-up completed, he moved over to the stereo, changed out the class soundtrack and replaced it with a compilation he'd developed.

As the first strains of music floated through the room, Michael closed his eyes, and forced a deep breath, in from the bottom of his toes, out through the top of his head. About four measures into the music, he began to move in time with the mellow beat, limbs fully extended with each down beat. Occasionally, he would open his eyes, and catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror to verify that he'd properly executed each movement.

When James came into the studio, Michael felt it; James' eyes blazing a trail down his body, setting his skin on fire, making every last inch of him hyper aware of James' presence. He continued through his routine, making minute differences here and there to accentuate certain parts of his anatomy. After all, James wouldn't have come in if he wasn't in search of something; Michael simply hoped it was him. Michael made a grand show of the final movement of the routine, focusing on extending his arms as far above his head as possible, making the lines of his back more prominent before slowly folding himself nearly in half, hands brushing the ground, head down, ass sticking out a bit more than necessary for the movement.

"I shouldn't be in here," James whispered.

Head still down, Michael allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. James' hands settled warm and possessive on his hips, fingers spread to hold as much of him as possible, which he loved. Slowly, Michael straightened his spine, making sure he pressed his ass back against James as much as possible. He heard James groan as his ass slid up, accentuating their height difference.

"I really shouldn't be here," James repeated as he molded himself to Michael's back.

Michael turned to face him, James' hands maintaining contact the whole time.

"Then why are you here, James?"

He didn't mean for it be a challenge, not really, but he couldn't handle the hot then cold mood swings that seemed to strike James on a whim. Sure, it had started as a bit of fun, a chance to unwind after a performance. At some point between being fucked into the mattress, then later fucked in the shower, Michael'd decided he wouldn't mind seeing James again, perhaps on a more regular basis. It was more than the sex, amazing mind-blowing sex, sure, but there was something about _James_ that made Michael feel like clinging and never letting go. It was only later, _after_ , that Michael had discovered James was the man buying the studio.

"I can't seem to make myself stay away," James admitted.

James' fingers were rubbing circles against Michael's hips, pleasantly distracting, and Michael doubted James even knew he was doing it.

"You seemed fairly determined in your office earlier, James," Michael reminded him pointedly.

"I still think this is a bad idea."

Michael dipped his head and captured James' lips in a gentle, teasing kiss. He felt James' hands clench on his hips, his dick twitch in his tights. James angled his mouth, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding around to palm Michael's ass. Michael moaned deep in his throat, eyes closed in bliss, feeling once more like things were as they should be, his body slotted perfectly with James'.

Michael whimpered when James tore his mouth away.

"A very bad idea," James breathed, his chest heaved, his eyes soft, hooded.

Michael nodded absently, body still hot and heavy with need. He consoled himself with the knowledge that James hadn't moved away. He bowed his head, resting it against James' shoulder; he turned his face towards James' neck, inhaling James' scent, feeling it course through his body before settling in his heart, as though it had always belonged there. Michael pressed his lips to James' neck, and brought his hands up to wrap around James' back, holding him close, still afraid he'd disappear if he let go.

"That's cheating."

Michael heard the laugh in James' voice and finally allowed himself to relax into James' embrace; he knew James wasn't going anywhere, at least not tonight. James' hands gripped his hips tightly before pushing back, away from Michael. For a moment, Michael wanted to reach out, to pull James back to him, but he didn't; he wouldn't.

"We can't do this, Michael."

"You're wrong. You want this as much as I do, James. Stop fighting it."

"This never should have started."

Michael rolled his eyes and moved away from James. He did his best to ignore the way James' eyes followed him as he moved around the studio, gathering random items he didn't really need. He reached for a towel and scrubbed it over his hair, still not looking at James. Unable to look at James.

"Michael - "

"Don't, James. Just leave. I need to finish up here."

He wanted to look, wanted to look back and find James looking back at him, to see his own longing reflected in James' eyes, but he knew better, or maybe he was just stubborn, maybe both. Either way, he didn't look back and he regretted it the moment he heard the door shut softly, the sound overly loud in the silence of the studio.

 

Michael considered calling in the next day, but shoved the thought away as quickly as he'd had it. He needed to be at the studio, preparing his students for the upcoming gala night, which was important for everyone, his personal entanglements with a certain studio owner notwithstanding.  As with any owner, he knew James intended to dismiss any instructor who failed to meet the financial requirements of the studio and he didn't intend to lose his job. He didn't see much of James in the days leading up to the gala, both of them busy with preparations; however, he did feel James' eyes on him when he wasn't looking, or when he was alone in the studio after hours, fine tuning a routine. Michael never looked to verify James watched him because he didn't need to; he knew it was James.

 

After the gala performance, the handshakes, the mindless pleasantries designed to make the wealthy offer significant donations to the arts, Michael felt drained, and a bit used. He knew how it all worked of course, he'd been in the business long enough to know it wasn't enough simply to have faith in the purity of art. That knowledge did little to help him in the aftermath of such performances though. Especially when he remembered the last time, and how he'd been taken care of after, taken care of by James. He'd looked smashing tonight, the bastard, all dressed up in a tuxedo tailored to accentuate some of James' more attractive assets. A wry smile touched Michael's lips as he took a long pull from his cigarette, a nasty habit, bad for his profession, but one of the few vices he had left, maybe someone bought the studio out from under James. Perhaps tomorrow he'd show up and they'd be under new management. What excuses would James create to keep them apart then?

Michael stubbed out his cigarette, the lingering smoke filling his nostrils. That's not really what he wanted, not for James and certainly not for himself. It might be good for him to realize James just might not be all that interested in him. Perhaps that's what James had been trying to say from the beginning, but part of Michael just didn't buy it, wouldn't buy it. There had to be something between him, certainly he wasn't the only one who felt it. But, considering he was alone, his couch woefully empty, it might be just him. At least his hand still worked.

With a sigh, Michael stretched across the couch to turn off the light. That's when he heard the incessant knocking. He glanced at his watch; it was just past one in the morning. His first inclination was to ignore it and go to bed, but the knocking just became louder and more insistent as if the person on the other side of the door knew his intentions. With a groan, he stood from the bed and opened the front door.

"James, what are you - "

"Shut up, Michael," James ordered.

Even if Michael had been planning on saying something more, his mouth was otherwise occupied. James lips were hard, insistent against his. As were his hands, his hands that gripped Michael's upper arms and the connection felt as if they'd somehow seared together, flesh against flesh. James walked them backwards a bit, putting them in the room enough for James to kick the door shut. His hands were like coals everywhere they touched and Michael loved the sensation.

"Do you always sit around in the dark half-naked?"

It took him a moment to process the question, he was still reeling from having James' hands on him. Of course he was half naked, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, he'd been intending to go to bed, but there was no reason for James to know that.

Michael smirked, "Only when I'm expecting company." As lies went, it wasn't horrible.

"You were expecting me?"

Michael paused, wanting a straight answer almost as much as he didn't.

"Maybe I was hoping you'd finally show up, but James why - "

"I thought I'd told you to shut up."

Michael's protest was swallowed by James' mouth once more. James continued to move them into the room until Michael felt his ass connect with the edge of his table. How had James managed to get them all the way into the kitchen? Before he could verbalize his question, James began to tug on his sweatpants, pulling them over his growing erection, down his thighs, down his calves until he yanked them over his feet and flung the offending material across the room. James lips moved from his lips, over his collar bone, where his tongue dipped into the hollow between his neck and the bone to taste the skin there and it sent a shiver up Michael's spine. James continued to work his way down Michael's body, teeth scraping lightly over a nipple, tongue darting into his belly button before he took Michael's cock into his mouth in one smooth movement.

Michael's eye shot open and he looked down to see James on his knees, James' mouth around his dick. Part of him refused to believe he finally had what he'd been craving for so long, those months without this. The other part of him greedily latched on to the moment, savoring the sight of James on his knees for him, pleasuring him. He was still dressed up in all his finery, the bowtie hanging loosely around his neck, the top button of the pleated white shirt undone. Michael curled his fingers in James' hair and began to thrust his hips, fucking into James' open, pliant mouth. He wanted to say something, to test whatever it was between them now, but the words remained lodged in his throat.

When James pushed the tip of his finger inside, Michael threw his head back, thrusting his hips in the process. He felt James' slowly slide off his dick, his finger still probing into his hole. Michael wanted to reach down and hold James' head, feel his hair again, but he was afraid of letting go of his death grip on the edge of the table. Afraid that if he let go, he'd never return to himself, to reality, to sanity. James' finger continued to push in and out of Michael, slowly opening him up, stoking the embers of desire burning in the pit of his stomach.

Distantly he heard the pop of a tube of lube opening, but James' finger wasn't inside of him any longer and he desperately wanted the feeling back, he looked down at James, noticed the way his pupils were dilated with desire, his breathing ragged, uneven. James ran his hands up Michael's torso, over his shoulders, down his arms, linked their fingers. Michael felt something inside him loosen as James tugged him forward, then helped him turn around. James bent Michael over the table, his lips warm against Michael's shoulder blades, the texture of the tux a tantalizing sensation compared to the silkiness of James' lips.

James' hand settled possessively on Michael's hip and then Michael felt the burning stretch as James entered him. He gripped the edge of the table as James slowly pushed in, James' hand moved up to rest on the small of his back, a soothing, gentle gesture. It'd been a while for Michael, and he knew James could tell. Did he know? Did James know he was the last Michael had been with? He felt James bend forward, his lips ghosting across his skin.

"Shhh, I've got you," James whispered.

Michael believed him. As James began to rock his hips, Michael allowed himself to ride the sensation. This time it wasn't a trick. This wasn't James running away, not now. Not tonight. Michael wouldn't last long; he'd wanted James too much for too long for him to have any hope of making the moment last. James must have sensed his urgency because the cant of his hips changed, the pace increased and James' grip on his hips was strong, possessive, but not bruising, not punishing, it was as thought James held on to Michael to keep himself from floating away just as Michael held the table. The knowledge of being wanted, of being possessed, desired by the man he'd thought abandonded him sent him over the edge. With a strangled cry of want, of hope, of desire, Michael came without anyone touching his dick. James followed soon after.

 

Light filtered through the sheer curtains in his bedroom, waking Michael. He blinked slowly, disorientated. Slowly, through the fog of sleep, things began to make sense again. To clear. He remembered last night. Remembered James coming to the house. Remembered the kitchen. Then there were the things he didn't remember. Like getting into his bed. Then he felt the warm body behind him, the arm around his torso. He stayed. Michael turned around, wanting to see it with his own eyes. James lay in his bed, naked, another thing Michael didn't remember, but wished he did.

James blinked awake, a soft smile on his face.

"I thought you'd be gone," Michael whispered, afraid it was all a dream.

James kissed Michael's forehead. "So did I."

Michael sighed and tucked James against. It wasn't a dream and as he drifted back to sleep, he vowed to never let him go.

  **~FIN~**


End file.
